Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Dillon put his contacts in, then tucked his shirt into his jeans, the crisp white looking okay against his neck and face.
As long as no one had to see his fish belly, he’d be okay.
He clapped his cowboy hat on his head, then tucked his sunglasses into his pocket before checking himself in the mirror next to the bathroom.
Coke had woken stiff and sore, but feeling much better, and Dillon had conned him into breakfast and going to the little science museum that wasn’t far from their hotel. They had plenty of time to do that, come back and have a swim and a nap, and get to work on time.
Woo.
The museum had a huge model train thing that kids got to play with. Dillon figured he qualified as a kid.
“Coke! Come on, babe. Move your bones!”
“My bones are old, honey.”
Coke came out, anything but old in a fine, blue button-down, creased jeans and a straw hat that hid the bruised, swollen set of stitches on his face. When the sunglasses went on, the man looked amazing.
“God, you’re hot.” He bounced over and took a kiss, letting Coke know he wasn’t old at all.
Coke’s arm wrapped around his waist, holding him close as the kiss went on a little longer.
“Mmm.” He pulled away, feeling a little bruised himself, but only in the best way. “You ready, babe? I could eat a horse.”
He saw that quick grin, the stitches pulling visibly. “Only a horse? Man, I was hoping for water buffalo pancakes.” He got a soft swat on the butt. “Let’s hasta.”
“Yeah.” He just hoped they didn’t run into anyone. Maybe it was kind of selfish, but he wanted Coke to himself.
There was a little eighties themed diner about three blocks off—Pat Benatar and Michael Jackson posters on the walls, teal and hot pink décor, and odd gourmet things on the menu. It was almost full, but there weren’t any familiar hats, so Dillon counted himself lucky.
Besides, they had eggs and bacon and pancakes, too, so it was a fit. He settled across from Coke, grinning from ear to ear, fingers tapping out a rhythm on the table.
They were playing Duran Duran. God, those videos had been hot. Coke put his sunglasses on the table, glancing up at the waitress with a smile. “I need a large orange juice, please ma’am, and a big-assed coffee.”
The waitress cackled, glancing at him. “What about you, hon?”
“Coffee and a glass of chocolate milk.” He wanted some sugar. Maybe he’d have chocolate chip pancakes.
The girl nodded, peering at Coke again. “Did you get the number of the truck that hit you?”
Coke nodded. “Yes, ma’am. J-3721.” That number was branded on Ballbuster’s ass.
Dillon cackled. “Yeah. It was moving fast, too.”
“Apparently. I hope so. Put some vitamin E on those, huh? Otherwise they’ll scar.”
“Good idea.” Dillon gave Coke a look, thinking about all the ways he could rub in some cream or something.
Coke nodded, eyes hot and dark, staring at him. “Yeah. We’ll have to get some.”
The waitress popped her gum and left to get their drinks.
“We’ll have to stop by the drug store, huh?” Man, the things they could get at the drug store.
Oh. Dark blush. Hot. “Works for me. We could get some…stuff.”
“We could. Do that thing we were talking about before. Either direction.” He could ride and ride. Coke would feel amazing inside him.
“Or both. Directions, I mean. You gonna have waffles?” Oh, this was fun.
“Nope. Pancakes. With chocolate. I’ll get a good buzz on.” He winked, slid the toe of his boot up the side of Coke’s ankle.
“I’m going have an omelet. Bacon. They come with little pancakes, it says.” Coke spoke calmly, but his breath hitched as they played footsie.
“Yum.” He’d have to have a protein shake later, but he wanted undiluted pancake and sausage joy. Drinks came, they put their order in, and Dillon set about really making Coke blush.
He watched Coke pour sugar in his coffee.
And pour.
And pour.
And pour.
Well, well. Someone was an addict. Dillon grinned. “Looks like you’re getting all jacked up, too.”
“Huh?” The spoon went into the black sludge. “I got a little sweet tooth in the morning.”
“Uh-huh. Just a bit.” That much sugar would make his eyes cross. Said the man who was sucking down a chocolate milk. “Have you ever tried M & Ms?”
“Like, the little candies? Sure.”
“No, I mean in your coffee.” He couldn’t see Coke going to Starbucks, but he’d bet the man would like a coffee with chocolate morning.
“Huh? No…” Dillon could see those wheels turning, the lines around Coke’s eyes flashing as he grinned. “I bet that’s something.”
“It is. We’ll try it tomorrow.” Nate had checked in with them late last night, but hadn’t said a word about anything, which was decent. A good thing, as Dillon fully expected Coke to stay with him tonight, too.
“Okay. We got to stop at the store anyways. We could get some snacks for tonight. For after… For late.”
“Sure. Keep us from having to put clothes on to answer the door for room service.” That was a sound plan. Oh, pancakes.
Coke gaped at him, then the plate landed on the table, and he could hear Coke’s stomach growling.
“Tuck in, babe.” Slathering his plate with syrup, Dillon started in, moaning at the little bursts of chocolate.
Coke watched him a second, a damn near gentle smile on his face, then started in on the omelet, peppering it heavily. Dude, that would make him sneeze. Chuckling, he chomped through the sausage, loving the sticky syrup taste.
It took about ten minutes of silent eating before they started slowing down, breathing, starting to chat together again. “Where is it you said we were going? A museum?”
“Yep. The science exploration doolie. I can’t wait.” He hoped there were some of those optical illusion things.
“Sounds good to me. I’m thinking, at some point during the long break, I need to go take AJ’s older ones to a carnival or something, in between training Jase up.”
“Yeah? Doesn’t AJ have, like, eighty of them?” Missy was always popping buns out of the oven.
“Five, although if six’s not on the way, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.” Coke stopped, fork halfway to his mouth. “Well, I guess I’m Uncle Poppy, no matter what…”
“Poppy…” Blinking, Dillon laughed, chugging the last of his coffee and pouring more from the carafe.
“Yep. I’m Poppy, Andy Baxter is Candy.”
“What does that make me? Uncle Dill-weed?”
Coke’s laugh rang out, filling the air and making the other diners turn, glance, smile.
They finished up, both of them sitting back and groaning. “Damn, that was good. I’d help, if you wanted. I don’t freak kids out near as much as I do the guys.”
“I want. You’re going to have to come see Jase. Learn how to deal with him.” Coke leaned forward, eyes serious. “Andy and me got him on some ranker bulls. He can still ride good. It’s the get-off and get out of the way that’s a stone cold bitch.”
Dillon still couldn’t believe that they were planning to get Jason riding in the arena again, but if Coke said he could do it, he could. “I get it. I’m distracto man. The crowd, the other guys. Right?”
“Right. And I think we need to work on how to get him back out the gate. Andy or Aje can take him from there, but it’ll be you and me and Nate moving him in the arena.”
“Okay. Okay.” Dillon pondered that. “We’ll have to train him to really pick out sounds. I know this guy back home. He’s a teacher who works with blind and deaf kids. I can ask him some questions. He wouldn’t have the first clue why.”
“Oh, man, that would be cool. Andy and me keep trying to figure shit out, but Jase, he don’t want us letting anyone know, so lots of the government stuff is outside what we can figure.” Coke said it ‘gub’ment’. That was adorable.
It also had him nodding. Hell, he was from Idaho. There were almost as many do it yourself survivalists there as there were in Montana. He understood not wanting traditional assistance. “We can do it.”
“Thank you, man.” Coke went suddenly serious. “I mean it. This means a lot to me, getting that boy all set up for the rest of things. He’s like a son to me.”
“I know. I’m a fan. You know that.” He stared Coke straight in the eye, trying to get across how serious he could be, too. “I’m in. Whatever it takes.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m in it for the long haul.” Suddenly he thought maybe—maybe—Coke wasn’t just talking about Jason anymore.
His heart sped up, his cheeks going hot. He hadn’t even let himself think about that, about Coke and him together like that. God knew he wasn’t a one-night man, but he was used to the leaving. It happened eventually.
“That sounds good, Coke. Really good.”
“Yeah.” Coke nodded once, as if that was that. “Good.”
“So.” He was grinning so hard his face hurt. “Museum?”
“Hell, yes. We’ll go make your hair stand up. I got my camera.”
“Well, let’s go! I want to see you on the earthquake floor.” Dillon grabbed the bill before Coke could and flagged down the waitress. Time to go play.